


Painted Whore

by discolophon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, M/M, Makeup, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discolophon/pseuds/discolophon
Summary: @remmyme prompted from the kink list 1. “Pretend you don’t want it.” + 36. “Don’t touch me. Just watch.”





	Painted Whore

**Author's Note:**

> 1) even though prompt #1 is pretty suggestively non-con, you will notice i did not check the Rape/Non-Con box. this is because a) the prompt also very clearly says pretend, and b) even with the pretending, i think the text is pretty clear about there being no actual non-con going on.
> 
> 2) i made a lil edit to #36 there, hope nobody minds.
> 
> 3) title is a quote from fuckin canon, don't @ me.
> 
> \-----

“Pretend you don’t want it,” Jimmy says, low and commanding.

Kneeling before Jimmy’s chair, forbidden from speaking, Cas gives him a look that says plainly, _I’m not that good an actor._ From his vantage point on the end of the bed, Dean can’t quite stifle his huff of laughter.

His amusement dies in his throat when Cas turns his head to the side as Jimmy reaches for him, forcing Jimmy to take him by the chin and turn him roughly back. There’s defiance in Cas’s eyes now; his body is tense, set for struggle. His shoulders flex as the muscles in his arms cord against the cuffs buckled snugly just above his elbows, pulling the length of black leather stretched between them taut across his back, keeping him from raising his hands high enough to push Jimmy away.

In public, the Novak twins are pretty buttoned-up. More than once, Dean’s heard friends and acquaintances describe Jimmy as “well put-together”; Cas usually gets “square as fuck”.

In private, though.

In private, Jimmy lets loose with these _ideas_. Ideas about making his brother do shit that’s completely antithetical to Cas’s staid everyday appearance. Nothing that Cas genuinely objects to--public appearances aside, he might actually be one of the most comfortably kinky fucks Dean’s ever been blessed to, well, fuck--just...stuff that puts his ability to get off on whatever gets his partners off on full display. So far, the three of them have yet to find a scenario that asks something of Cas that Cas won’t make an honest effort to give.

So if Jimmy wants Cas to struggle and glare while he gets dark red lipstick painted on his mouth, elegant black liner around his eyes, and swipes of glitter on his cheeks, well. Cas is gonna struggle, and Cas is gonna glare, and Cas is gonna get just as fucking hard as his audience does.

Dean shifts where he sits, adjusting himself in his unzipped jeans. Not touching; not just yet. His hands knead absently at his thighs, instead.

Jimmy finishes his careful contour of Cas’s second eye and studies his brother appraisingly before putting down the eyeliner and picking up a tube of mascara from the makeup littered across the top of the dresser. “Look up,” he murmurs, reaching forward with the wand, but Cas doesn’t move, just keeps glaring, his jaw set. Jimmy’s soft focus turns hard. “Look up,” he repeats, his voice edged with danger, and then instead of grabbing Cas’s chin again he fists his hand in Cas’s hair and yanks.

Cas’s reddened lips part reflexively at the sharp movement, a dark noise falling out of him before he cuts it off. His cock bobs between his thighs, hard and heavy and flushed nearly purple already. As Jimmy holds him at the angle he wants, muscles bulging in his arm, and brushes the mascara delicately onto Cas’s lashes, precome wells up, glistening on the crown of Cas’s dick before dripping sluggishly downwards.

Dean swallows, his throat clicking in the quiet of the room. Reaching his own hand into his boxers, he palms his own hard cock.

“There,” Jimmy breathes, drawing back and capping the mascara, gazing down at Cas with pride. There’s a damp spot just visible in the tented fabric of his underwear. “Doesn’t he look nice, Dean?”

At a callous nudge of Jimmy’s fingers, Cas turns his head to look at Dean straight-on, fixing him with the same defiance he’s been giving his brother. His mouth is a crisp, blood-red bow; his cheekbones shimmer in the low light; the blue of his eyes, rimmed black by the neat liner and the long, full sweep of his mascaraed lashes, seems huge, depthless. Electric. “Yeah,” Dean says, and holy shit he sounds fucked-out already, hoarse and dazed just at the sight of Jimmy’s skilled work. “Fuck. Yeah, he does.”

“Mmm,” Jimmy agrees, satisfied. “Time to wreck him, then.” And his hand rakes back into Cas’s hair, and he pulls Cas’s head back at a harsh angle, and he kisses him, hard and deep and biting.

Cas struggles in Jimmy’s grip, his hands in fists as his arms strain against his bindings, the long, bared column of his throat working around silent protests. When he finally manages to turn his head and break the kiss, he’s panting, and his dick is leaking steadily, and the carefully-applied lipstick is a mess all over his mouth.

All over Jimmy’s mouth, too, the red of it smeared across his lips and streaked down toward his jaw. Jimmy grins at Dean like a predator fresh from the first bite of its kill, and Dean presses on his cock as it jerks. There’s red on Jimmy’s teeth, too, bright and feral.

Reaching down, Jimmy grabs the length of leather straining across Cas’s back and hauls him up as he stands, shoves him towards the bed as soon as he’s on his feet. Cas stumbles, off-balance, unable to right himself with his arms tied, and falls on his side on the bed beside Dean. Dean turns to reach for him only for Jimmy to catch him from behind, hold him back with one hand in Dean’s hair, the other slipping warmly over the base of Dean’s throat, onto Dean’s chest.

“Ah ah ah,” he tuts, and cranes Dean’s head around for a kiss, licking Dean’s lips open and encouraging Dean’s tongue into his mouth, sharing the taste of Cas’s lipstick. After a nip at Dean’s bottom lip, he straightens, pulling Dean against him so Dean can feel the hot shape of his dick pressing against his back. “Strip and sit at the head of the bed,” he instructs, in the same tone he told Cas to _pretend_. “Back to the headboard. Legs spread.”

Anticipation pooling in his belly, Dean does as he’s told. Cas eyes him from his sprawl on the bed as he shucks his jeans and shorts, his gaze so heavy Dean feels it like a touch; the soft sound of skin on skin from behind him tells him Jimmy’s enjoying the view, too. Even as his dick throbs at all the attention, Dean blushes, warming all the way down to his toes.

Once Dean’s settled himself as instructed, Jimmy stands at the foot of the bed and just looks for a few long seconds, slowly stroking his cock where he’s pulled himself free of his underwear. “So fucking obedient,” he says, approving and amused and a little breathless. Dean’s skin prickles. “You go where I put you, you do what I tell you. You let me paint myself all--all the fuck over you, Cas, Jesus. You’re a terrible actor.”

Dean can’t see Cas’s face, but whatever look he gives Jimmy punctures Jimmy’s dominant air: he laughs, bright and real, his nose crinkling, his mouth open in a huge, gummy grin. “This asshole,” he says fondly, turning his smile to Dean. “All the time and effort I put into making him look pretty, and he goes and gives me the fucking _impatient eyebrow_.”

Truth be told, Dean’s more on Cas’s side than Jimmy’s, here. He’s plenty wound up just from watching Jimmy make Cas over; Cas himself must be verging on desperation. Still, messing with Cas is the theme of the day, and Dean’s not about to stop now. “Impatient, huh?” he drawls, curling his hand around his own cock and giving it a squeeze just to get some pressure where he’s aching for it. “What happened to pretending you don’t want it, Cas?”

Cas bends his neck and tilts his head and levels Dean with--yep--that eyebrow thing he does when he’s quickly approaching the vanishing point of tolerance. Dean’s used to seeing it when he’s the one tied up in restraints, or Jimmy is, and one or both of them are being bratty as hell, and Cas is looking down on them in full god-mode. Seeing it like this--while Cas’s arms are pinioned, his voice silenced, all of him supposedly at their mercy--that perfect, pre-emptory arch of his brow sends fresh arousal arrowing to Dean’s gut.

Pointedly, Cas rasps, “As Jimmy said, I’m a very bad actor.”

The grin falls off Jimmy’s face, severity back in place in an eyeblink. “Not the only thing you’re bad at,” he snaps. “Bad at pretending, bad at keeping quiet. We’ll have to find something you’re good at, Castiel.”

Cas hasn’t turned away from Dean yet; Dean’s the only one who sees the look of triumph flash across his face. As Jimmy kneels onto the bed to get within reach of his disobedient brother, Dean tips Cas a conspiratorial wink: _Attaboy, you little shit._

Jimmy isn’t gentle about putting Cas on his hands and knees. With his arms bound the way they are, Cas has to hold himself up with his upper arms parallel to his body, a space only the length of his forearms between his chest and the mattress. Even with his knees splayed wide for balance, his body’s forced into a sinful slope from the raised round of his ass to where his made-up face hangs just a few taunting inches from Dean’s dripping dick. It looks uncomfortable as hell--like he’s stuck between two of the yoga poses Dean’s watched the twins cycle through fluidly during their morning routine--but Cas’s strong body takes to it with barely a quiver.

His hair’s a bird’s nest, tousled and spiked from Jimmy’s hands. Dean wants to rake his own hands into the soft warm mess of it, tangle it around his fingers and pull on it, use it to pull Cas’s hot mouth to the tip of his dick and _down_ \--

“Dean.” The admonishment in Jimmy’s voice is unmistakable. Dean’s hands freeze a literal hairsbreadth from Cas’s head; his gaze snaps up, wide-eyed, caught-out by the forbidding look he finds on Jimmy’s face. But as soon as Jimmy has his attention, his expression eases. He smiles, and Dean smiles back, and then he notices the slyness at the corners of Jimmy’s mouth, the wicked gleam in Jimmy’s eyes. “Don’t touch,” Jimmy instructs, mild but inarguable, and Dean’s breath stutters as heat bolts through him. Precome beads steadily from his tip, so fucking close to Cas’s goddamn mouth. “Just watch.”

Dean watches. He watches Jimmy step out of his underwear and kneel up behind Cas on the bed; he watches Jimmy slowly work the plug Cas has been wearing since this morning out of his ass; he watches Jimmy guide his own thick, hard cock to his brother’s slick, open hole.

He watches, palms itching with want, as Jimmy sinks in deep, all at once.

Cas rocks with the force of it, husking out a grunt. His head drops forward. His breath washes unevenly over Dean’s thigh.

Jimmy makes a warm, throaty noise. “Still so tight,” he murmurs, appreciative, and without further preamble he starts up a steady fuck. His head lolls back as he takes his pleasure, baring the rosy flush colouring down his neck and chest. “So good, Cas.”

Dean’s hands claw at the sheets in frustration at the feel of Cas’s breath--and only Cas’s breath--on his skin. Eying the powerful flex of Jimmy’s body, the casual ownership of his grip on Cas’s thighs as he pulls him back to meet his thrusts, he curses. “You greedy bastard.”

Jimmy’s head tips forward again, and now he’s doing the eyebrow thing. It’s a more mischievous look on him, paired with the humour that plays at the corner of his mouth. “Where are my manners?” he says, and stills his hips and leans forward, draping himself over Cas’s back. Slipping one hand onto Cas’s throat, he pushes up under his chin, forcing him to raise his head and turn his face upwards again. “Plenty to go around.”

And Christ, the look on Cas’s face as he meets Dean’s envious gaze: red-stained lips just falling open, black makeup ringing fierce blue eyes full of dirty fucking _hunger_.

Dean surges down to plant a grateful kiss on Jimmy’s smirking, lipstick-rubbed mouth.

As impatient as he is to take what’s on such obscene offer, Dean can’t resist marking Cas up a little himself first. With a firm grip on the base of his dick, he traces the damp head around the lush gape of Cas’s lips, dragging sticky precome across the full red shape of them, nudging bluntly at their blurred edges. With Jimmy still holding just under his chin, Cas can’t duck forward to get his mouth around him; instead, as Dean teases, he darts his tongue out wherever he can reach, curling warmly against Dean’s skin, tasting.

Those taunting flickers of tongue work on Dean like Cas’s rule-breaking voice worked on Jimmy. Lust spikes through him so hard he gets dizzy, and all at once he can’t hold off any longer, has to get inside him, has to feel him properly. Has to make Cas quit provoking him and be _good_.

Jimmy must see the switch flip: he stops holding Cas back, and immediately Cas cants forward and down. He takes Dean in like he was made to swallow him whole, and holy fuck, his mouth is so fucking _wet_. “He’s fucking drooling for it,” Dean breathes, awed, staring as Cas’s jaw drops, his lips stretching wide around him. “Jesus, Cas. Suck me.”

“There we go,” Jimmy says, sounding so damn proud of his own belated generosity. Straightening up, he runs his hands down Cas’s back to curve over his hips and take hold. When he starts up his rhythm again, his body moves Cas’s, rocking him down onto Dean.

And then they’re using Cas between them, every thrust and drag of Jimmy’s cock in Cas’s tight ass fucking Dean’s cock in Cas’s filthy-sweet mouth. And Cas, painted and bound, just fucking takes it, takes them both, warm and wet and welcoming.

It would be perfect, Dean thinks, barely holding on to coherence in the rising tide of heat and scent and sex, the sight of the twins before him like top-shelf pornography, the feel of them moving together driving him to goddamn distraction--if only Jimmy would let him get his hands on Cas, too.

“Was that a twitch?” Jimmy’s breathless voice pulls Dean’s attention: he’s staring at the broad planes of Cas’s back, his face lit up with wicked-edged delight. As if he’d read Dean’s mind, he looks up and gives a nod of permission. “Touch him, Dean. Gotta feel him shake.”

Cas’s skin is feverish, damp with exertion under Dean’s eager hands. And there, in the shifting muscles around his shoulderblades, the straining cords of his arms: he’s starting to tremble, the position he’s in as Jimmy works him on their cocks beginning to take a toll. Dean plays his fingertips over Cas’s bunched biceps, flattens his palms to knead at the expanse of Cas’s shoulders and up the nape of his neck; Jimmy pets over the small of Cas’s back and the taper of his waist, down onto his sturdy thighs. Every ticking muscle, every shiver under Cas’s skin--the feel of Cas fighting his tiring body to stay where they want him--is heady, exhilarating. A goddamn fucking turn-on when Dean had honestly thought he couldn’t get any more worked up.

But even as his hands rove and grasp, he can’t look away from Cas’s face. The mascara and liner Jimmy applied so neatly are hopelessly smudged now, sweat making the kohl run into the crinkles around Cas’s near-unearthly eyes. Dean’s cock fucks between Cas’s thick, paint-and spit-slicked lips, down Cas’s open throat, and every outward pull leaves a sloppier smear of colour dragged on his shaft. He wonders if Cas can taste it when he slides back in, taste the lipstick from his own mouth on Dean’s cock as it passes over his tongue, and fuck, _fuck_ \--

“Fuck, Cas--Jimmy, his mouth--gonna come in his red fucking _mouth_ \--”

Jimmy groans and shoves forward, shoving Cas forward, pressing Cas’s nose right into the wiry hair at the base of Dean’s dick and sheathing Dean deep in Cas’s throat. Cas’s eyes roll back, his blackened eyelids fluttering as tears well over and run sooty trails down his hollowed, glimmering cheeks. He swallows and swallows around Dean’s cock as Dean spills, his throat hot and tight and working and working as Dean’s hips jerk forward with each pulse, as if Cas could take him any deeper.

“You’re staring, Dean,” Jimmy says, his voice a sex-wrecked rasp of smoky wonder. “Love how he looks, right? Mess of him just--taking it, fuck--you ruined his pretty--ah--his pretty--” With a shudder, Jimmy bucks backwards, pulling out of Cas’s hole with a slick sound. One hand still clutching Cas’s thigh, he fists himself raggedly and comes all over Cas’s ass and lower back.

By the time Dean’s spent cock slips from Cas’s gasping mouth, Cas is full-on shaking. Clumsy and tingling with the aftereffects of his orgasm--his _fucking spectacular orgasm_ ; Jesus, Dean loves Jimmy’s raunchy fucking ideas--Dean helps hold Cas up, pressing kisses to his sweat-drenched temples and makeup-streaked cheeks while Jimmy fumbles to undo the strap binding his arms. As soon as it’s released, they both take Cas’s weight, stroking him soothingly as they help him fall onto his side on the bed and straighten his limbs.

Dean half-expected they’d be finishing Cas off once he was in a more comfortable position. When he sees Cas’s dick already starting to soften between his thighs, the sheet below where he’d been posed striped with come, he can’t help the low noise he makes, new heat curling slowly in his gut.

“He came when you did,” Jimmy says, smoothing a gentling touch from Cas’s shoulder all the way down his limp arm to his trembling hand. The look he gives Cas is soft and proud and brimming over with affection. “Not a finger on his dick. Just the two of us, using him raw.”


End file.
